People, Places, and Things
by Lori von Loco
Summary: Oneshots centered around two characters and a random noun. Chapter eight: Kenny & Chef, "Ducks."
1. Sweat

**People, Places, and Things**

**A/N:** These challenges were constructed by my asking a few friends to name two South Park characters and a random noun that I could base oneshots around. None of them are related, so you can skip around as much as you like, dear reader! Also, I have two slots open for requests as of July 29th, 2013!

There are various pairings included in this, though not all chapters are romance-based; those that _are_ will be marked with "xoxo" in case you aren't interested in reading about that particular couple.

Characters in fic description will change with each chapter added.

* * *

**.:One:.**

_Craig & Kenny (xoxo) - "Sweat"_

_For myself (guilty!)_

-x-

"I just don't understand your obsession with rock concerts."

A pair of cobalt-blue eyes darted across a brightly-lit laptop screen, hardly glancing in the direction of the subject their owner was speaking to, who happened to be the blonde boy sitting on the bed across the room. The second pair of eyes, belonging to the aforementioned blonde, rolled in regards to the other's statement.

"I mean, I like the music just like you do. I just don't wanna see the singers up on stage screaming their lungs dry and sweating to death under shitty lighting."

"Dude," the blonde began, speaking his first piece in this conversation, "the concerts are what show you all the feeling that goes into each song! Plus, the guys that just walked offstage in that video you're watchin' were sexy as hell, so you can't tell me they don't look good covered in sweat."

"But imagine hugging that. You'd be covered in another guy's sweat..."

"You don't seem to mind being 'covered in another guy's sweat' when it comes to us..."

"That - that's different." The blue-eyed boy's ears heated at the same instant a scowl crossed his face. "Fuck. Shut your face, McCormick."

"And should I mention that sweat is usually the least of our worries?"

"Dude, quit."

"I'm just sayin' you can't complain about-"

"I can complain all I want."

"About hot, sweaty men? Why would you wanna do that?"

"Because I don't wanna talk about half-naked rock artists drenched in bodily fluids."

"..."

"_Sweat._"

"Sure, Craig."

"Goddamn it, Kenny, stop giving me that look."

Kenny, who was enjoying the conversation more than Craig thought was strictly necessary, snorted and pushed on the bed beneath him to hoist himself up into a sitting position. "Speaking of, why don't you come back over here and-"

"Whatever is going to come out of your mouth, I do not want to hear it."

A smirk blossomed on the McCormick's face, and he continued in a more deliberate tone. "Come back over here and lemme show you what bodily fluids I had in mind."

"That sounds gross." Craig lowered the lid of his laptop down and heaved a sigh, fighting the smile that tugged at his lips. "You're a hopeless case."

"Not quite yet, babe. Now c'mon, show me how hard you can rock."


	2. Steak 'n Shake

**.:Two:.**

_Cartman & Butters (xoxo) - "Steak 'n Shake"_

_For Steph._

-x-

Eric Cartman wasn't sure where the predicament he'd come to be in had started, but he was hoping that it would end very soon. Butters was carting him around town, and he made him wear a blindfold to boot, so the humiliation level for his thirteen-year-old self was frustratingly high.

"Butters," he began, voice laced with evident distaste toward the current situation, "where the hell are you taking me?"

"I told ya, Eric - it's a surprise!"

"It'd better be a good one, or so help me, I will-"

"We're almost to the bus stop, so you don't have to worry." The cheerful pep in the blonde's tone was starting to strike a nerve in Cartman's brain, but he had to admit that it was nice having someone focus all their attention on him, even if it was Butters.

Between the two of them, any form of silence lasted sixty seconds at most, and since many of their conversation topics were provided by the Stotch boy, the strange looks given to them came in floods; Cartman was, thankfully, unaware of that fact.

After a bus ride to Colorado Springs that seemed to take forever, the teens headed for a brightly-lit, diner-style restaurant, Butters in the lead, Eric being tugged along by the hand.

"We're here!" the former exclaimed, undoubtedly smiling in that happiest-boy-in-the-world way that Cartman hated (or maybe loved just a little, and shut your face, Jew, I don't like faggy Butters.)

The blonde's hand slipped out of Cartman's and instead flitted to the back of the other's head to untie the blindfold.

"...Steak 'n Shake, Butters?" He blinked once, looked over at his escort's expectant face, and started walking ahead to hide his smile. "This was a dumb shit idea."

Butters grinned victoriously at the ill-concealed satisfaction in the other boy's voice. "It's real good! I think you'll like it!" He hurried after Cartman, prating excitedly about steak burgers and seasoned fries. "I thought it would be a good place for, like, y'know, a d-date or somethin', 'cause it's pretty spacey and it's a heck of a lot like them old diners that I know you like, a-and I guess I want-"

Upon looking up, he realized that he was alone in the restaurant's entry and deflated a bit, scurrying after his self-proclaimed best friend quietly. "There's a free table over there in the corner," he notified the brunette, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

The duo slid into the same side of the booth (Cartman pretended to mind and Butters pretended to be sorry for sitting so close) and shared a menu with gazes of equal anticipation regarding the food.

"Butters, I hope I'll be able to say this again someday." Cartman sighed and closed his eyes to avoid Butters' uber-jubilant stare. "This was a pretty good idea."

"Y-yeah?" Cartman didn't think it was possible, but his blue-eyed companion smiled even wider. "I'm glad ya think so, 'cause it's one of my favorite places."

"D'you come here a lot?"

"Sure do! All the time!"

Cartman looked off toward their approaching waiter and refused to look back at Butters as he said, "Maybe I could tag along with you sometimes. I don't have shit better to do."

The Stotch stifled a giggle. "Sure thing, Eric. Well, I-I'd like that. M-maybe it can be our little place."

By this point the waiter had approached their table, so Cartman snapped, "Don't be such a queero, Butters," and placed his order with a bright pink face. Once Butters ordered as well and the waiter had returned to the kitchen, Cartman crossed his arms as he sunk lower in his seat. "Maybe."

"Maybe, what?" Butters looked over at the other, who appeared to be relatively irritated.

"Maybe this can be our stupid fuckin' gay wonderland or whatever you wanted."

This time Butters did little to hide his amused laughter, which prompted a sharp, "Hey! Don't laugh at me, dammit!" from Cartman.

"O-o-oh, I'm sorry, Eric." Butters' giggles soon dissolved into a small smile, and, after a moment of hesitation, he pressed a quick kiss to the other boy's cheek. "It's our place, then, really?" he questioned, wide, hopeful eyes lowering Cartman's curse in response to being kissed to a less atrocious volume.

"...Goddammit, fine."

Though the waiter had returned to the table, Cartman wasn't quiet about affirming his and Butters' new agreement with, "It's our place. Our little Steak 'n Shake in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere."

Despite the tone the agreement was delivered with, Butters smiled brightly, because this was their place, and that was good enough for him, anyway.


	3. Lipstick

**.:Three:.**

_Wendy & Bebe (xoxo) - "Lipstick"_

_For FFN user SouthparkRulesDaWorld._

-x-

Wendy Testaburger was infamous around South Park High School for many things: Senior class president, honor-roll student, and head of two clubs. The teachers called her the paragon of perfection; the students' opinions tended to vary amongst different groups, though they were generally positive.

She was an enigma to child and adult alike. After all, how could a teenage girl in a bumpkin town like theirs be so seemingly perfect? She was an all-around good person, intelligent, and gorgeous to boot. So, so gorgeous.

Then again, these thoughts lied with South Park High's own head cheerleader, and she considered—for a single fleeting second—that perhaps not everyone heralded the noirette beauty like she did. And that was all right, as far as Bebe Stevens was concerned.

If only everyone could see Wendy at her very best moments, when she'd just woken up and had knots in her hair, crease marks on her face, and twisted-up pajamas; in the middle of the day, when the both of them would lie in the grass and tell each other stories or blow the seeds from the dandelions; or when she stood in front of the bathroom mirror at midnight, putting on makeup just for fun. Glittering brown eyes would flicker to Bebe every so often, crinkling at the corners when the blonde caught her gaze and erupted into a giggling fit so form-wracking that it would cause her to smear her lipstick in a neon dash across her cheek.

Bebe loved those moments, where they'd laugh so hard that tears would spring to life in their eyes, and they'd pick out the strangest, brightest, most eye-catching lipstick shades and decorate each other's mouths, cheeks, and, ultimately, entire faces.

Wendy would tell her she was the prettiest girl in the world, even with her hair in those five dumb ponytails and multi-colored makeup scribbles marking her sparsely-freckled face. The Stevens girl adored those moments the most, and she would say so; she'd lay makeup-dirtied hands on the other girl's hips, pull her close, and smile the brightest smile she could before kissing her, smearing lipstick in the best way she knew how.


	4. Mules

**.:Four:.**

_Clyde & Wendy - "Mules"_

_For Shannon._

A/N: This actually has more _Craig_ and Wendy than _Clyde_ and Wendy. Oops.

-x-

"Dude, get on the stupid animal."

"No!"

"Get on."

"It's dirty!"

"Your crotch isn't any cleaner."

"You would know!"

This brief argument was the product of the fourth attempt at getting Clyde Donovan onto the mule in the town petting zoo, courtesy of one immensely irritated Craig Tucker. The boy in the chullo was working on his fifth attempt when a familiar figure came near and saved grace.

"Wendy!" he called, gesturing the ebony-haired girl over to where he and Clyde stood at the outside of the mule fence's gate. "Hey, Testaburger!"

Wendy slowed to a stop before the duo and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Clyde's being a pussy, come help me."

Clyde's gaze flickered from Craig to Wendy anxiously. "C'mon, bro... Wendy's got better things to do than-"

"Ohh, I see what the problem is." The girl's eyes were twinkling with mischief that the brunette definitely was not comfortable with. "It's okay - I'll help."

"Don't! I mean, y'know... I know kung-fu."

Wendy only offered an amiable smile at Clyde's weak (and blatantly false) attempt at expostulating against her efforts. "Clyde, mules are gentle animals."

"They kill more people annually than sharks!"

"Oh, really? What kinds of sharks?"

Clyde glanced from a smirking Craig to a deceptively innocent-looking Wendy. "...They kill more people annually than sharks!" He punctuated this by tossing his hands up theatrically.

"Lightning kills more people than sharks or mules. There, now you've got no excuse - just get on the animal." The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cleared her throat, and regarded the Donovan with pursed lips.

Her efforts were rewarded with a hearty, "No."

Craig gave his friend a hopeless look, then turned his head to speak to Wendy. "I can't help him get over his stupid fear. He's being a difficult little shit."

The dark-haired duo ignored Clyde's indignant "Hey!" and whispered amongst themselves for a few seconds before Wendy approached Clyde to lay a hand on his shoulder.

She smelled like girl and that was making Clyde's hands sweat.

"If you don't do it, I'll tell Bebe you're afraid of tiny little mules."

Clyde gasped, which spawned what was possibly Craig's largest smile all week. "You wouldn't!" the former cried, looking so distraught that Wendy almost felt guilty.

"I pummeled the shit out of Cartman and Bebe when I was nine; don't doubt what I can do now."

The Donovan made a face, looked between the other two once more, and ultimately sighed in defeat. "Fine, I'll do it," he stammered upon yanking the gate open and stomping up to the guide inside. "I'd like a ride, please."

Craig moved to shake Wendy's hand and she responded with a high five. "He's actually getting on the mule, too."

The boy looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Thanks, Testaburger."

"No problem, Tucker."

"Look at him, he's cryin'. Jesus, this is great."

Wendy patted him on the shoulder. "I am so telling Bebe that he cried on the mule ride."

"I'm proud of you," Craig replied with a nod of approbation. "You grew up to be one passive-aggressive motherfucker."

The girl put her hands on her hips and shot the other a smirk. "Well, this was fun, but I have to go. I run a booth today, so I might see you around. Good luck with Clyde - that poor child."

She spared another glance at said brunette, who was clinging tightly to the animal's neck with his eyes closed. "Bebe will think it's cute," she mumbled while she aimed her phone to take a picture. The phone was tucked away into the front pocket of her jeans when she was finished, and she then left to attend her booth, leaving Craig to watch her go whilst Clyde was having a panic attack inside the mule fence.

Nice girl, the boy in the chullo mused silently. I can see why Marsh likes her.

A few moments later, Clyde staggered back to his previous standing position outside the fence. There was a long stretch of silence before he spoke. "I hate you so, so much."

Craig merely flipped him off.

"So, so much," Clyde repeated. "Well, at least I'll live it down one of these days."

"I wouldn't count on it, man. I really wouldn't."


	5. Homosexuality

**.:Five:.**

_Stan & Kyle (xoxo) - "Homosexuality"_

_For Caitlan._

-x-

If Stan Marsh were to write a how-to book on avoiding awkward confrontation, he would make the very first piece of advice "Never make a bet with Kenny McCormick. Ever." Back when they were eight years old that may have been acceptable, but at sixteen, Stan learned the hard way just how vicious the town's resident poor kid could be when a bad tattoo was the losing stake.

Try to outdrink Tweek, Kenny said. Easy; Stan could handle it, even if he was a lightweight, because this was Tweek they were talking about, after all. So, naturally, he agreed to the McCormick's wager. "If you win, I swear to God I will get a tattoo of a flaming dick on my arm." Stan wanted very badly to be able to witness any girl's reaction to seeing that. Kenny would probably never get laid again with that stupid thing on his skin.

"Tch, I can outdrink Tweek in my sleep, dude. Deal." With that, the match was set, and Stan quickly came to the realization that Kenny had meant coffee to be the dare's leading substance. He would have to drink more coffee than Tweek fucking Tweak.

That was the beginning of Stan's trouble - the rest simply came as a result of the flaming penis inked onto his arm the next day. To be fair, the ink was temporary because Kenny wasn't a total douchebag, but it was still there, and the first person at their school to notice it was Cartman, of all people. Sometimes Stan hated his life more than usual.

"Stan..."

"Yeah?"

A snicker. "You - you got somethin' on your arm there, man."

Stan wished that it wasn't summertime so he would've remembered to bring his jacket. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Cartman and Kenny simultaneously erupted into bouts of laughter that shook them so hard they had to lean on each other's shoulder to stay upright. The former was wiping tears from his eyes. "Jesus fuckin' Christ! I can't - what the hell even happened?"

The Marsh boy scowled and made a weak attempt at pulling his t-shirt sleeve over it. "Kenny happened."

"Kinny, dude, I love you so much right now."

The aforementioned blonde was in danger of literally dying of laughter, but he managed a muffled, "Fuckin' queer," that was nearly indiscernible through both his parka and his laughs.

It was evident that Kenny was joking, but Stan was irritated enough to the point where anything was liable to piss him off, so his reply was made in a deathly serious tone: "Now you've got something against gay people?"

Kenny shook his head, finally getting over his laughter and wiping a stray tear away. "No, dude. Chill the fuck out."

Before any sort of response could be made, Kyle had finally joined the group, looking as dour as ever. He stood beside Kenny, opening his mouth - no doubt to start complaining about something - and then was shocked into silence upon catching a glance at his super best friend's new ink. His gape was enough for Cartman to start cracking up again.

"...Dude."

"I know, Kyle, I-"

"At least that was a, uh, creative way to come out of the closet, Stan."

And, just like that, Kenny was howling again. "What! I - no, no no no, this - this was because of Kenny." Stan tried to explain, looking thoroughly perplexed at how to go about clarifying.

"Kenny?" Kyle wrinkled his freckled nose. "I could've chosen a better lover than him."

Cartman looked about ready to bust a gut, but Kenny had since quieted and was therefore putting in his two cents. "One, I don't bone guys. Two, I don't give a flying fuck if you two do, so now everyone can calm their tits and-"

"I'm not gay, dude! Neither is Kyle, so." Stan was lying on both of their behalves and he knew it, but that was about when his day really got awkward. Really fast.

"That's bullshit, dude. We've been fucking under the bleachers for, like, a year now." Kyle crossed his arms and cocked his hip, raising an eyebrow at the Marsh pointedly.

"Whoa. Damn, um..." Kenny, for once, looked at a loss for words.

"Kyle!" And Stan was the complete opposite, immediately launching into an impressively-sized rant on keeping secrets until they were ready to be told.

Cartman picked himself up off the floor and gave Kyle a weirded-out look. "Kinny and I don't wanna hear about your homoerotic super boyfriend shit, Jew. That could've been kept to yourself."

"Shut up, Fatass! At least I'm comfortable talking about my sex life! You refuse to even acknowledge that you've got the hots for Wendy!"

"Hey! I do not like Testabitch, Goddammit!" But, judging by the fact the brunette's face was now the same shade of red as Stan's, that was a lie.

"You're a huge liar, you asshole," Kyle quipped, shifting his hands to his hips.

"Well, you're-"

"If you say 'a Jew," I know I've won this argument."

"...Gay!"

"Tell me something I don't know." With those words and an I-can't-be-bothered-with-your-shit-right-now sort of snort, the redhead departed for class, leaving behind a thoroughly flustered Stan and Cartman alongside a highly amused Kenny.

"Well..." The blonde clicked his tongue and bobbed his head in a lazy sequence of nods. "This bet has been eye-opening. I...am surrounded by gays."

Stan grumbled. "Does that bother you?"

"Tch, no. Like I care what does or doesn't go up your ass." He fixed the straps on his backpack and gestured down the hall. "I gotta go, anyway. Have fun. Be homo and proud, dude." In leaving, he thrust a fist into the air. "Power of the dick!"

"I...don't know what I expected would come out of this tattoo," the Marsh boy said flatly, slowly shaking his head.

"You're the dumbass that took Kinny up on a bet." Cartman snorted and began heading toward his own classroom. "Your fault, you black asshole."

It certainly was not his fault if he had his say in wager-placing; he blamed everything on Kenny. Conclusively, he mentally filed away that little tidbit of advice: Never bet with Kenny. Ever.


	6. McDonald's

**.:Six:.**

_Kenny & Death - "McDonald's"_

_For Madison._

-x-

Death's Monday had been rather tame, to say the least, as it was already four o'clock in the afternoon and not a single person had died yet. He supposed that was a good thing, but it made him an awfully bored creature. Just when he was considering having one of his rare talks with Satan—he preferred talking to God, honestly, but he was too lazy to travel all the way up to heaven—the familiar sound of a bell rang in his lobby.

"Oh, good," he croaked to himself, grabbing his cloak from the rack near the door. "All right, now, let me see…heaven or hell?"

The black-framed indicator he used for destination purposes read "hell," which didn't faze him, but the asterisk beside the word was what prompted him to groan. "Why does it matter where _he _goes? He's just going to come back the next day!"

Presently, a little slip of paper flew through the mail slot in the front door, which he picked up to read aloud. "'Unless you want him to stay with _you_ for twelve hours, I suggest you just do it. Love, Satan.'"

"I could handle the boy easily!" Death was yelling at the floor now, which may have looked rather silly to the casual passerby, but, well, there wasn't much you could do when you were a walking skeleton in purgatory. A walking skeleton in purgatory that soon found himself eating his words, as it turned out.

Grumbling, he made his way to where a certain blond-haired teen would be waiting for him: A particularly greasy restaurant in the small mountain town of South Park.

* * *

"Welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order, please?"

"Uh, yeah, I'll have the number two. Like, the food. I don't wanna shit in your restaurant, I promise."

The young woman at the counter rolled her eyes; Death would've done the same if he could.

He had just entered through the eatery's door and was already feeling like this was an extremely bad idea. Well, it was too late to back out now, so he shook his head, glanced down at his disguise—some kid he knew Kenny always hung out with—and ambled up to the boy with a sigh.

"Kyle!" Kenny had spotted him almost immediately, and the jovial tone he'd used in greeting hurt Death's ear cavities. "Hey, dude!"

"I'm not Kyle, I'm Death, and I'm only like this so I can get your ass out of here, kill you, and take your soul back to purgatory for twelve hours." The woman at the counter furrowed her eyebrows in a disturbed manner, and he added a sheepish, "Oh, uh, that's our code for…'hey, what's up?'"

Kenny snorted. "All right, _Kyle_. Could you at least let me get my damn McDonald's first?"

"I…suppose so."

As if on cue, the bag of food arrived and Kenny took it with an amiable smile. He handed the cashier exact change—consisting entirely of dimes and nickels—leaving in bouts of laughter over the woman's annoyed expression.

"Hey, Death?"

"What?"

"She put number two in my hand." Kenny, cracking up at this, shook the bag pointedly, and Death sighed what was quite possibly the longest sigh of his afterlife.

"Yeah. Well, come on, let's go."

"After you, Bones. After you."

* * *

"Why'm I in purgatory, anyway?" The words were spoken through a mouthful of food, and Death was horrified to see that ketchup was dripping from Kenny's chin onto his once-pristine white tablecloth. "I usually go straight to hell—or heaven, if I'm particularly good one day."

"Satan issued me a challenge, so now I have to babysit you."

"Oh."

They didn't speak for a while after that. Death simply watched Kenny eat, spill his drink on himself, and periodically insult Death's home for the next fifteen minutes before the trash was disposed of and the kid was running around the room touching any and every knickknack he could get his filthy hands on.

When asked what he was doing, he simply replied that he was "investigating" why Death was "such a boring-ass pile of bones that owned every piece of white furniture on the face of the earth."

The skeleton checked his watch. It had only been twenty minutes since this nuisance had arrived? Maybe Satan was right; perhaps the boy _was _quite difficult to handle.

"Hey, Bones! Boney! Boner! _Bonerrrr._"

"What the ever-loving fuck do you want, kid?"

"Why didn't you stay disguised as Kyle? That was pretty cool. Can you disguise yourself as other people, too?"

"Yes…"

"That's gotta be the sweetest motherfuckin' power ever. Do it! Be…Stan!"

Death groaned, but he figured it would just be easier to appease the blonde than argue, so he racked his brain to remember which one "Stan" was and did his best to imitate that form.

"Whoaaa, dude. That's dead on! …_Dead _on. Heh."

"For the love of… How _old_ are you?"

"Heyyy, you sound like Stan, too. I'm fifteen!"

"You act like you're six."

"I don't, usually. I just had _a lot _of coffee this morning, 'cause I stayed at Butters' house and his mom gave me coffee, and it was, like, really good coffee, too, like the expensive kind from Hawaii or whatever, 'cause he and his family are from there and they go every—"

"_Please_ shut up."

"Rude, man. Anyway, do me next!"

He didn't know why he even obliged, but, once again, he changed his form, mimicking the one before him, ketchup and Coke stains included.

"Wicked awesome. Say something. I always wanted to hear what my voice sounds like to other people."

"I'm Kenny. I'm an annoying piece of shit that needs to shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down."

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Kenny burst into a fit of loud, obnoxious laughter. "O-oh my God, that—fuck, man. That was great."

Despite everything, the skeleton had to smile at this. Kenny was very easily amused...

The smile disappeared a moment later, however, for the aforementioned teen was now standing (in those dusty boots!) on the sofa, poised to begin jumping.

Death checked his watch once more. Twenty-five minutes… Only eleven hours and thirty-five minutes to go. With a resigned moan, he thumped his head on the table.

He'd learned his lesson: Never challenge Satan to a game of patience, unless you want McDonald's ketchup to be smeared on everything you own.


	7. Morals

**.:Seven:.**

_Token & Pip – "Morals"_

_For Tabby._

A/N: Also featuring quite a bit of Damien, because he and Pip are a perpetual pair, and Gary Harrison the Mormon boy, because I've been writing a lot of things involving him lately and he has grown on me.

-x-

"Why do you suppose the others pick on us so much?"

For the longest time, the only answer to this inquiry was the gritty sound of car tires treading over gravel, but, eventually, Token gave his response in the form of a dark mutter. "Don't talk to me."

For once, he was forgoing his "nice guy" routine. While he didn't necessarily fake being a friendly guy, it was a lot easier to give in to his personal annoyances and brood, especially on a day like the one he was currently having, which began with him missing the bus on field trip day. Because of this, he now had to spend an hour-and-a-half-long ride with Gary Harrison's mother, who was chaperoning, along with Pip Pirrup, Damien Thorn, and Gary, himself. It was not among his favorite ways to begin the day, to say the least.

He'd been working on cheering himself up through some much-needed internal pep talks, but then Pip had to go and open his mouth again, effectively ruining the quiet, peaceful atmosphere. "What do you guys think?"

Gary was the first to answer, and he responded with a surprisingly cheerful, "I suppose everyone picks on me because I'm too friendly, therefore they believe I'm weak."

Token leveled his best "Are you kidding me?" stare at the blond beside him. Gary, however, didn't notice, as he was directing his attention to Damien, who spoke next.

"It's because I have a short temper. I get angry a lot, so they don't like me."

Pip pat Damien on the arm sympathetically, then gave his own answer. "I think they pick on me because I'm a mixture of both. I'm too nice, so—as Gary said—they must think I'm weak, then I lose my temper and I'm suddenly a big jerk."

At that, Token pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. _What were these lunatics talking about?_ he thought, trying to keep his frustration from showing on his face. _Those are _not_ the reasons the other boys pick on you._

"What about you, Token? Why does everyone make fun of you?"

Slowly, the brunette raised his head to look at them, then brushed Pip's question off with a sharp huff before he returned to staring out the window.

"Come on," Gary, who sat closest to him, chided. "You've got to have a theory."

"I _don't _have a _theory_. I know for a fact why they make fun of me, and it's because I'm black." He'd meant to stop himself there, but his pent-up irritation got the better of him; he looked at them again with his eyes narrowed. "And you," he said flatly with a gesture toward Pip, who sat in the other window seat, "the guys don't pick on you because you're nice, they pick on you because you're British. They think that your accent is stupid and that you dress funny.

"You," this one was spoken to Damien, who subconsciously scooted closer to Pip when Token's angered gaze met his own. "They don't like _you _because you're kind of _the son of Satan._ You're the freaky kid from hell, in other words.

"And _you_," he straightened in order to meet Gary's startled blue eyes, "are picked on because you're a Mormon. They think your beliefs are ridiculous." There was a short pause, then he added, "And your mom won't even help your case. She's sitting up there in silence, and I'll bet it's because she thinks Mormonism is ridiculous, too!"

With that final statement, Token slumped back down in his seat and turned toward the window once more. "Great, are we all on the same page?"

There was yet another pause, this one lasting for a longer period of time. To Token's surprise, Pip was the one who broke it, doing so without a single tremor in his voice. "You're wrong, actually. Gary's mom is a devout Mormon like the rest of her family, and she doesn't interject because she trusts her son with his own battles. The boys do not pick on Gary for his religion. Though they are not above teasing him, they are above _that _kind of discrimination now that they are in middle school and have learned common sense."

Damien lifted his chin and added airily, "And they don't pick on me for being Satan's son. No one picks on Jesus for beings God's son, after all." Suddenly, the noirette jerked his chin downward again, flashing Token a red-eyed glare that made the latter jump in his seat. "And they don't pick on Pip because he's British; they pick on him because they're idiots."

At that, Pip laughed and touched Damien's arm with a tenderness that made Token realize a thing or two about their relationship. The aforementioned blond sealed the argument with a soft, "And they don't hound you because you're black, but because you are well-off, financially speaking. Their taunting stems from their own insecurities, which means that they merely seek approval."

Token blinked, his angry mood fading away, as indicated by the slow rise of his eyebrows. "Wow, uh…thanks for that…whatever it was. Pep talk, I guess. I never thought about it that way, but it makes sense. I mean, I do have quite a few friends, and even they joke around about my wealth every now and then."

"Which can still be kind of hurtful," Gary said with a nod, "but there are times when they may not even know they're bothering you."

As the car slowed near their destination, Pip finished their speech. "There are a lot of things to be said for that, but I guess our collective point here is that we are young, and we say certain things because we are naïve, but, as far as my knowledge goes, most of us have good morals. It isn't about _politics_." The last word was spoken with emphasis as the Brit squeezed Damien's hand. "It isn't about _your _personal preferences, either. It is simply about morality, and what's good for the people."

"_And_," Damien put in, "it has everything to do with having a little goddamn common sense." He quietly apologized to Gary's mother for cursing, as an afterthought, then hustled Pip out of the now-stilled vehicle toward the museum that was to be their field trip location.

The remaining duo followed suit, and Pip hung back for a moment to shake Token's hand. "It was a pleasure talking with you."

For the first time that day, Token smiled. "Yeah, y'all too. And, you know, I learned something today: That not everyone in this po-dunk town has their head up their ass."

The Brit laughed, clapping the other on the arm amiably and thanking him before he left to join Damien's side once more.


	8. Ducks

**.:Eight:.**

_Kenny & Chef – "Ducks"_

_For Aly._

A/N: This dodged the "humor" bullet big time. Like, it's kinda sad, but at least it has a decently sweet ending. ;w;

-x-

It wasn't every day that Kenny McCormick saw Chef ambling about town, and without an immaculately dolled-up woman by his side, no less. The man usually kept to himself, only making appearances in the school cafeteria on weekday afternoons or in the mayor's office when political problems arose. If South Park were more culturally diverse than it was, Kenny would've assumed it was somebody else on that street corner in the dead of night, crouching above a sewer grate as if he weren't at all worried about the impending rainfall.

Kenny stopped in the middle of the road to watch what Chef was doing, cocking his hood-covered head curiously. It took a solid two minutes before he decided to go see what was going on, since the man hadn't moved from his spot at all in that time frame.

"Chef?" his voice seemed pathetically small in the thick humidity surrounding him.

"Hm? Ah, hello there, Kenny." Chef hadn't even turned around; he knew the boy purely from his voice, then? Kenny thought that no one except Kyle and Stan could do that—he was under the impression that everyone recognized his voice due to it being muffled by his parka, but he didn't have it tied at the moment, so that couldn't have been the man's reason.

"What're you doing?" The boy chanced a step closer, though he stayed in the middle of the road as if he were taunting death.

"Trying to save this little fella."

"What is it?"

"A duck."

"A duck?"

"Yeah. It got it's little foot stuck in the grate and I think it broke it's leg, so I'm trying to get it out without hurting it any more."

The wind howling was the only response, and that was when Chef looked up from the sewer grate and settled his gaze on the purple bruise around Kenny's left eye. "What in God's name happened to you, boy? Come on over here and we'll talk about it."

The blond obeyed, stepping out of the street and joining the other on the sidewalk. Sad blue eyes came to rest on a tiny, gray, feathered thing cradled between the cafeteria worker's palms, and the only thing he could think to say was, "It's just going to die there, so why not leave it?"

Chef furrowed his eyebrows. "Now, why would I do that?"

"Some things are just destined to die."

The hard stare that Kenny felt on him suddenly went lax, and he nervously looked up to find that Chef was smiling at him. "I guess you're right. But that doesn't mean that we can't try and save them."

"It wouldn't be worth it," the blond said after a brief pause.

The other didn't miss a beat; he replied with, "Someone's life is always worth it."

"Not that ugly thing's. Even it's family left it behind."

"Sometimes family isn't very reliable."

"Don't I know it," Kenny mumbled, tucking his legs underneath him as he lowered himself from a crouch to a sitting position.

"That's where you got that shiner, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"You gonna stick up for your folks, then?"

"No, they're not worth shit. I just don't wanna talk about it."

Chef nodded, then went completely silent for all of ten seconds before he whistled victoriously. "I got him!" He held the duck up for a moment, as if boasting to God about his victory, then lowered it back down for Kenny's wide, intrigued eyes to get a proper look at.

"You really did save it!"

"Sure did, son. I'm gonna go take it to the vet. Wanna come with me?"

"Sure!"

The man smiled as he stood, placing his free hand on the boy's back for a moment to direct him forward. "He'll be as good as new after a while."

"Are you gonna look after him?"

"Yeah, I suppose I will. And you, too, if you ever need someone to listen."

"Thanks, Chef."

"You're very welcome, Kenny."


End file.
